SOME YORKSHIRE AND WESTERN MIDLAND HUNTS. 1 89 



dilapidation. The oldest of the lot were sunken masses of 

 blackened straw, and had long been left by the rats; the newer 

 ones were still fairly respectable, but what may be called the 

 intervening lot — probably from two to four years old — were 

 literally riddled with rats, and as we sat on horseback, look- 

 ing at them, rats were running about the yards by dozens. 

 We heard, probably from someone living not far from this 

 curious place, that the owner objected tO' " trespass in pur- 

 suit of rats " almost as much as he did to having his stacks 

 threshed ; but we were not going to give up the idea of what 

 appeared tOi offer a most promising chance of rat-hunting, and 

 my friend, after a great deal of trouble, obtained the neces- 

 sary leave. Shortly afterwards there was a severe frost, and 

 many days were spent on the lake at Eastnor Castle, for it 

 was not an easy business to organise such a hunt as w© had 

 in contemplation, while we were both living in rooms — lodg- 

 ings they were then called — at Malvern, and had no ferrets, 

 and only one really trustworthy terrier, a Scottie, by name 

 Francis, and on whom my friend (his owner) set great store. 



Further inquiries were made, and these resulted in our 

 getting into touch with a curious ancient who lived on the 

 Ledbury side of the country. This man was a rabbit-catcher 

 by profession, and had been an under gamekeeper, and, 

 though about seventy years old, was both active and keen. 

 He engaged tO' be at Malvern early one morning with ferrets 

 and terriers, and there we loaded up on a dogcart, sitting 

 ourselves in front, and well do I remember that the hireling 

 we drove was terribly slow, and the drive in the severe frost 

 one of the coldest I ever remember. And the day was a 

 failure, too; the five or six ferrets we had brought with us 

 would not face the huge number of rats in the most thickly 

 populated stacks, and the terriers we had borrowed were not 

 very good. We tried stack after stack, but the ferrets kept 

 coming out as fast as we shoved them in, and the climax came 

 when, in swiping at a rat, I hit Francis on the side of his 

 head (he had come from behind me) and knocked him out. 

 Luckily he was not much worse, and soon came round ; but 

 his owner was terribly distressed, for Francis was a dog who 

 refused friendship — even acquaintanceship — with anyone but 

 his real master, and was a wonder at rats. By this time we 



